


The Code

by Good_Luck_With_That



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 10:04:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13455948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Good_Luck_With_That/pseuds/Good_Luck_With_That
Summary: Sometimes it all comes down to the right words.





	The Code

“You aren’t going to get anywhere with him.”

“I have to try something, before you torture him to death. You know, this has really gone too far. I never asked you to do this.”

“I’m trying to protect you, Brother Mine. But I suppose you’re going to have to learn the hard way, as always ..”

“Torture is never the answer.” He’d used pain, on a dying man, to procure that Name. But that was different, it had to be. Just how, he wasn’t completely certain. “I’m not bluffing, Mycroft .. let me in there and leave us alone, or I will bring all this to light.”

“I believe you would.” A sordid and almost pleased frown. “Go in then. But it may not work as you want it to. You never would listen.”

 

Moriarty, Jim, James, the Spider … a fell rose by any other name, beautiful and poisonous with petals of arsenic and a smile of cyanide, the faint hint of belladonic determinations. Sherlock approached with the expression of a man who has just watched the world die and has found that it never really mattered in the first place.

“Come to coarsen the deal?”

Blood. Jesus Christ, Sherlock’s mind wailed in unused corners, the amount of blood is extraordinary and nauseating. That man in there did this, that man I call my brother, and he did this for me.

“You have to surrender.”

“Now you’re just insulting me and degrading yourself.”

“He will see you dead before this is over, or rotting in some far off institution. Somewhere even you will never escape from. Use your mind. Use that fine brain of yours, before it’s too late.”

“It’s already too late.”

Sherlock did not waste any more time on talk. Talking to Jim was by the very nature of the action, a waste of time. No matter what was said or offered, he would have a rebuttal, a rejection, a denial. He crossed the distance and whispered something in Jim’s ear. Something sharp, and cutting, and fatal. Something true. Something cruel.

Brutalized, bleeding, and broken, Jim Moriarty smiled with his seeming razor sharp teeth, and Sherlock nodded, offering a hand to him to arise from the stained cot.

Mycroft let them leave.

Together.

Because Sherlock deserved what he got now. Sherlock had thrown everyone else away by this one act, and Mycroft would stand by and allow it to happen.

Because Sherlock had it coming.

 

Many years later …

Three divorces, eight adopted children, and nine grandchildren later, as they vacationed as all old men do, with gratitude and fatigue on the beautiful and balmy Isle of Tahiti, Jim finally accepted the call from Mycroft. All this time, but waiting was an act of love, after all. He’d perfected it with Sherlock all those years ago. And they were old men now, worn, triumphant, weary and content.

“What did he say to you, Jim.”

Mycroft’s ancient voice, fraught with illness and bitterness. But he would call, Jim had always known he would call.

“You’ve waited a long time.”

“Please. Please, Jim.”

Had he ever used that word before, in all these many, many years.

Not likely.

“He said three words.”

“Ah! No! So … so tacky! Ah, I’m disappointed!”

“Not those three.”

“What then?!”

Jim smiled, as he held the phone in his small and shaking hand.

 

“Be with me.”

 

FIN.


End file.
